


how dare you speak of grace

by haipollai



Category: Captain America
Genre: Howling Commandos - Freeform, M/M, Modern Era, Winter Soldier feels, memorial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:12:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai/pseuds/haipollai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There's a statue in Arlington. A memorial to the Howling Commandos. Steve hangs back as Bucky approaches it, crouching down to read the plaque. He traces their names, emblazoned in worn brass.  They're all there, listed neatly, even the non-Americans. It is no longer agonizing work to dredge up old memories, and he smiles at a fleeting image of Jacques trying to teach Jim how to dance, something folksy. The memory slips away too fast still but it was there and that has to count for something.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	how dare you speak of grace

There's a statue in Arlington. A memorial to the Howling Commandos. Steve hangs back as Bucky approaches it, crouching down to read the plaque. He traces their names, emblazoned in worn brass. They're all there, listed neatly, even the non-Americans. It is no longer agonizing work to dredge up old memories, and he smiles at a fleeting image of Jacques trying to teach Jim how to dance, something folksy. The memory slips away too fast still but it was there and that has to count for something.

He steps back and finally looks up, makes himself see. Despite all their names listed neatly on the plaque, only two of them were chosen to be physically immortalized.

Cold, hard marble looks out over the graveyard. Bucky's grateful they're not looking down at him. He doesn't have to look into dead eyes. Just looking up at them all he can think of is slipping and falling. Sometimes he's not sure if he ever hit bottom. Maybe his decent has just slowed.

Steve's arms wrap around his waist, apparently his alone time is up. “You're a hero.”

Bucky takes a moment to turn that around in his head, feeling the weight of the word. “Not really.”

“Bucky...” Steve's arms tighten but it's already too late to pull him back from the ledge. He has already fallen off the train, he can no longer be saved.

“Don't. How many have I killed, Steve?”

“You can't blame yourself.”

“Why not?” His hand finds Bucky's metal one and entwines their fingers. “Why not?” Bucky asks again, but he's not asking Steve this time. His eyes are fixed on the statue, this old image of himself that exists like a mockery. This is what you were.

This is what you lost.

He does not deserve Steve and his reassurances, not when he sees blood when he looks down at his hands and there is still red burned into his skin.

“Because the Russians erased who you were. The Bucky I know, he isn't a killer like that.” His lips brush Bucky's ear, and the words are spoken quietly, intimately. Even if there were anyone else close by they couldn't hear. It makes Bucky shiver.

“What do you think I was doing in the Commandos? Ogling you through my scope?”

Steve's next breath comes a little harder and Bucky thinks he's trying not to laugh. He allows a small smirk to tug at his lips. “It's different when you're protecting a friend, when they're soldiers. You don't agonize over those Buck so you know it's different.” Steve takes a breath and his lips touch Bucky's ear. “I know what you've done, and I don't blame you.”

Bucky chokes up but swallows it back, swallowing away the words trying to rip out of him. It's there in this throat, a thank you and it's the closest he'll come to admitting Steve is right. He feels Steve's lips turn up into a small smile and he knows Steve understands. Something in his chest loosens at the realization that Steve still understands him, not his thoughts maybe, but the little things. The gestures and the looks. There's still something of that kid that's been preserved in marble inside the man of flesh and metal that Steve can see. “I killed a man in his sleep.”

“Buck-”

“Strangled him since I couldn't get a good shot with the rifle. He was...he was British I think. I never really got much information on my targets.” He pauses, waiting to be interrupted again but Steve stays quiet this time. “I think it was in the sixties, I don't know why. Anyway, he woke up seconds before I got to him. Saw me. And he knew me, I could see it in his eyes. I double checked, it wasn’t Falsworth so I guess I just met him during the War. I still killed him. Only hesitated a second. I could have just...right then, if I'd been a little stronger.”

Steve buries his face in Bucky's hair. He can feel each breath ruffling his hair. He can feel his lips forming into apologies and reassurances he knows Bucky doesn't want to hear and he'll never admit that he needs to hear. Needs them every damn day.

“I think I'm ready to go,” he tells the statue.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Broken Crown by Mumford and Sons


End file.
